


Breath of life

by SherikiYanni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angelic Grace, Cas saving Dean, Grace Bonds, Grace Sharing, Grace-Powered Orgasms, M/M, Pre-Canon, Raised You From Perdition, lost Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherikiYanni/pseuds/SherikiYanni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot about Dean's rescue from Hell</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath of life

**Author's Note:**

> -enjoy  
> -don't steal

_"But I needed one more touch. Just a taste of heavenly rush._

_And I believe, I believe, it's so oh oh oh._

_And I needed one more touch. Another a taste of divine rush._

__And I believe, I believe, it's so oh oh oh."_ _

_-_ Breath of Life _Florence and the Machine_

 

 

They  are no longer people to him. Not even lost souls, they are simply chopping blocks. Dead pieces of rotting meat for him to slice into and carve images and shapes out of. He doesn’t even hear their screaming anymore. It’s peace. It’s calm. And it’s all the monster he’s become. Hell is dark, and hot, the heat is nearly stifling, torturous in and of itself, but Dean is cold, his heart is numb and the cries in his throat, the pleads for Sam to save him, they’ve long since died. Forty years will do that to you.

__

Alistair is by his side at times. Praising him and complementing his work. He’s the new protegee, the apple of Alistair's eye. He doesn’t notice. Sammy’s gone. Dad’s gone. Mom’s gone. It’s all him. No one to hold him back, and if he were to stop his administrations on these lost souls, well, Alistair would put him back on the rack….Not that he’s saying he wants to stop either. There’s an amazing surge in power, when you hold the key to someone’s pleasure, the key to their pain in the palm of your hand. For the first time ever, Dean Winchester is in control, a God in his own right. He passes judgement. He decides how much pain a person can take. It is all on him.

__

“How are we doing today?” Alistair's breath is almost too hot in his ear, Dean ignores him, eyes dead, the life that once was in them, now completely faded, as he cuts deeper into the side of the man before him. He chokes, crying out to God, for God to save him. It makes Dean want to laugh, God isn’t there, he never answers the prayers of the worst sinners. Alistair sighs, “I do wish you’d open up to me Dean. You’re such a good student, you take care and precision in all that you do here. I’d love to show you how to make it last, how to draw out the pain and make them really squeal.” Dean puts down the scalpel, the item he’d been using lazily on the man. He turns to Alistair, face unnervingly blank. He is as dead outside as he is inside.

__

“i’m doing just fine on my own.” Alistair opens his mouth to speak again, but loses his words, he stills, eyes widening with fear. Dean is about to ask what’s wrong, but Alistair flees, gone before Dean can even get the first word off his tongue. The cries of the tortured and lost souls around him peak, reaching a crescendo and hitting a high that nearly renders Dean deaf. He covers his ears. Stepping back from the table and shutting his eyes tightly. He wonders what’s going on, what’s happening to him. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, hell was tired of him and wanted him gone. He doesn’t care if they kill his soul, he just hopes it will be quiet when he’s gone.

__

Bright, white light, shines against his eyelids. It’s nearly blinding even with his eyes shut. He opens his mouth, a hoarse, scream of surprise, emanates from his lips. He doesn’t dare open them, instead, he curls in on himself, dropping to a ball on the floor of the room. Cowering, this is power, this is pure, unadulterated power. Something he will never have.

__

_“Dean.”_ a voice, low and monotone calls out to him. He quiets, biting his lip and hoping it will go away, a heat, hotter than anything he’s experienced, even in hell, fans over him, warming his skin and giving him a surprising sensation of comfort. He relaxes, the muscles in his body going limp. He falls back, his head smacking against the floor. The light has faded to an ethereal glow, he chances to open his eyes, and is left in awe at what he sees. It’s the most beautiful, frightening, creature he’s ever witnessed.

Thick black hair sits at the top of it’s head. It has the body and shape and form of a human, but Dean knows it’s not because of the wings sticking out of it’s back. They’re white, beautiful and large, but the ends are scorched, burned from the fires of hell. Smooth, tanned skin pull over taut muscles, it is naked, but there are no genitals, Only smooth, unscarred, skin.  It’s eyes are glowing, a bright and piercing blue. Dean shrinks back, feeling very, very small indeed. _“Dean Winchester.”_ it says again, kneeling down in front of him. It reaches out, touching Dean’s shoulder gently, a mere brush of his fingers.

__

It sends a jolt of sensations through Dean.

__

Dean grits his teeth to keep from crying out in desperation. Searing pain scorches across his chest before he’s filled with a sense of absolute pleasure, unlimited euphoria. His eyes roll back, it’s better than any orgasm he’s ever had. Warmth spreads through his limbs, the numbness in his heart fading away, replaced with the pleasure spreading through him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows this is intimate, a private moment of bonding between them. He doesn’t know why, or how, but this is special and important. He can feel the creature’s eyes on him, and hears the small moan from its lips, that alone, sends another jolt of pleasure straight through Dean’s body. His head is spinning, he feels dizzy.

__

“Who are you?” he asked. The creature shifted. Dean felt it grasping him, picking him up. He opened his eyes in time to see it’s wings spreading, unfurling and stretching to their full length. Dean reaches out and runs his fingers over the soft, downy feathers. The creature moans again, squeezing Dean gently in its arms. “What are you?” he corrects himself.

__

_“Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.”_ it answers. Dean looks up in shock and surprise. They’re moving now, flying upwards. Dean clutches the angel, digging his nails into its arms. He doesn’t want to fall, Hell is shrinking beneath him, Alistair, the people he’s tortured, it’s all becoming smaller and smaller. The angel envelopes him in its wings as they move, ascending upwards. Dean sees shadows, demons lurking in the corners, not daring to strike out against an angel. For the first time in what feels like decades he feels safe, protected. He leans his forehead against the angel’s chest, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. The angel does not protest, instead, he nuzzles Dean’s hair, breathing lightly against him. This sends another streak of pleasure through him. his heart tightening as something in him pulses. _Bond_. It’s a curious word, and odd that it’s the first thing he thinks of. But it’s their bond, every touch, every interaction is strengthening it. Dean has nothing to fear from this being. It will not harm him, ever. Affection fills Dean’s heart, he reaches up to stroke at the feathers again, before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

__

Castiel cradles Dean against him, fueling and strengthening the human with his grace. It’s similar to a woman breast feeding, Dean’s soul is craving it, it needs to be strong and vitalized before he can replace it in the body Sam had buried. Castiel feels weakened, the battle at the gates of hell and deeper into the depths had been difficult, in the end he was the only one who dared brave further, to save Dean, to complete the mission. And when he found him, something inside tugged at him, he reached out and touched the human, branding his mark on him. Dean was his charge now. Only he could protect him. Castiel sighs happily when they finally break from hell, ascending to his heaven, where he can care for Dean until he could return him to earth. He opens his mouth, shouting for all to hear, pride and happiness laced in his words. _“Dean Winchester is saved!”_

__

He lays Dean on the grass, carefully adjusting him so as not to wake him, and softly laying his head down. The Winchester looks so young and at peace as he sleeps, his body naked, covered in bruises and cuts, signs of just what he went through in hell. It nearly breaks Castiel. Odd feelings fill him, something of tenderness and concern. He wants Dean to be okay, to heal quickly so he can see his brother again. He sits down beside him, reaching out with his grace, to heal the damages down to the soul. He reaches up, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair gently, wondering if his father had done this for him, if anyone had truly loved him the way he deserved.

  
 _“Dean.”_ he said softly, like a whispered praise to a lover. _“Dean Winchester.”_


End file.
